


“How long before he goes kaput?”

by StripedScribe



Series: Febuwhump2021 [3]
Category: Daredevil (TV), Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Bad Things Happen Bingo, Bombs, FebuWhump2021, Gen, Imprisonment, Kidnapping, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-03
Updated: 2021-02-03
Packaged: 2021-03-14 05:21:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29165613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StripedScribe/pseuds/StripedScribe
Summary: A black and white camera shows the viewers a room, a cell. Dark concrete, a metal door locked shut, a tiny window. One lone light bulb hanging from the ceiling illuminating the sole resident of this room, a figure curled up on the floor.This scene was echoed either side. Three figures, in identical rooms, the same set up.And amongst them, a bomb, a game to play.Day 3 FebuWhump [Imprisonment]Bad Things Happen Bingo [Strapped to a Bomb]
Relationships: Matt Murdock & Peter Parker & Wade Wilson
Series: Febuwhump2021 [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2136723
Comments: 3
Kudos: 35





	1. Chapter 1

A black and white camera shows the viewers a room, a cell. Dark concrete, a metal door locked shut, a tiny window. One lone light bulb hanging from the ceiling illuminating the sole resident of this room, a figure curled up on the floor.

This scene was echoed either side. Three figures, in identical rooms, the same set up.

“Good evening. Just take a moment to appreciate the view, whilst we wait for everyone to check in. The video is live, they’re just unconscious, and I’m afraid our budget hasn’t yet grown enough to grant us colour video. I’ll just inform you now, if you haven’t yet realised, all these players are wearing red suits.

“Now is just a time for me, to introduce to you, the rules of this game. Exactly what you’re joining me today for. In a moment, one of these characters will be given a weapon, against themselves. A bomb, to be strapped to their chest, a challenge for these strangers to beat.”

“If they fail, only that person will die, it’s not a powerful bomb. Leave us with the others to carry on playing with. Two’s always a nicer number for games than three. First, I’m asking you viewers, to use your money, decide on which character you think has the bomb, deserves the bomb. We know these characters, their fights filling our night sky. It’s taken me a while to collect them all, work out their powers, how to keep them trapped. I could reveal their identities, but I don’t even want to know myself. Don’t want to make them human, take any chance of ruining our fun.”

“Back to our cells, our captive rats. As you can see, a window divides each of them. They can talk to each other, just about see each other. Give them some sort of chance of hope, of humanity. The one in the middle has an advantage, today we’ve give that to Daredevil. Cell A, Spider-Man, Cell C, Deadpool. If they all survive this we can carry on playing our games, have a little more fun. I know some of you have some devices that could be appropriate, isn’t that right?”

A gap in the sound from the speaker, silence over the radio waves.

“They’ll sleep for a while longer, plenty of time for you to vote, for us to set this scene, get them all prepared. I see you voting already, thank you. I can’t thank you enough for this money, the funds to improve our games. For those of you who have played with me before, you’ll know this group is a big thing for me, to have big names such as those in our cage. To the newcomers, thank you for getting involved, your encouragement is greatly appreciated.”

“You don’t need to know my name, or who or what I work for. Just trust me, that this could be the show of your lives. Watching these captive vigilantes play our games. If you’ve got this far, I know you want the same as me, as us. The same goals, and a chance to work together to get there. This session is just a little entertainment, a performance, if you will.”

“Oh, oh, interesting. The votes looked close for a little, but there’s a clear winner now. Someone out there has a lot of money to put on this, a lot to invest. Thank you. I’ll ask my men to prepare it now.”

Silence again, and through the video, men could be seen entering the middle cell. Pulling up the figure into a sitting position, and attaching a vest to him, an assortment of wires, and the clear shape of a bomb. Digital numbers marked 30 on the front, not yet counting down. The men left again, the door closing.

“I’ll let you have the sound from the cells now, it should be about 5 minutes until they awake. Please, enjoy the show.”

Silence over the speakers, as all three figures slept on, barely moving. Until they began to stir, as predicted, together, blearily stretching, confusion in their actions as they tried to recognise their surroundings. Something triggered the countdown to start, and seconds started to slowly flash down.


	2. Chapter 2

“Okay, what the fuck.” The beeping called them all to attention, the quickly recognisable sound of a timer, of a bomb. And as one, Deadpool and Spider-man moved to their windows, following the sound, to a frozen Daredevil, stood in the centre of the room.

“Wait, how-”

“What the hell-” as one they spoke, barely able to see the other.

Daredevil looked terrified, arms outstretched, a sheen of sweat on what could be seen of his face. “There’s a bomb.”

“I heard the beeping. I might be able to defuse it? Where is it?” He soon recognised the voice as Spiderman, and the action of him climbing the wall to look through the gap, the window. And the other Deadpool, a voice he’d heard less often.

“On me. On a vest.” Slowly, he turned, to face Spider-man, to let him see the bomb, their weapon, and the timer.

“Okay, okay, that’s a timer. That is not ideal.”

Unable to see, to offer any help, Deadpool called over. “How long before he goes kaput?”

“27 minutes. Daredevil, I need you to trust me, we’re going to get this sorted.” His voice sounded so young, just a kid, but Matt found himself instantly calmed. Even through a foggy head, from whatever drugs were still working out his system, he had to put his trust in him. “Anyone have a blade, a knife, something like that? Deadpool?”

“Yeah, yeah, small knife here. D, I’m going to call you that to save time, here, through the window.”

“Slowly, slowly now.” He could hear the kid’s restless movements even through the thick walls.

“Yeah, I know, giant bomb attached to me.” He reached up, taking the blade, before moving back to face Spider-man. “Now what?”

“Twist to your left a touch?” He moved, following the instruction. “Okay, yeah. This could be easy, if I’m plotting this wiring correctly. It seems pretty simple.”

The Devil just laughed in response, a sharp bark. “Simple.”

“As far as explosive devices go. I need you to cut a wire, see that black one, just to the top of the timer?”

He winced, “And here’s the difficult part. Lets not use colours for me, as that’s really not going to help.”

“Okay, okay, we can work with that.” Quickly, Spider-man adapted, not speaking any judgements. “It’s connected to the timer on what would be your right, you’ll be safe to touch it, slowly do that and I can confirm it for you.”

He hoped that his hands weren’t trembling as much as it felt they were, as he slowly reached for the wire, tapping what he thought was the right wire.

“You got it. Now just slice through that quickly, it should stop the timer.”

A grim face of concentration, and the wire was cut, a shrill beeping replacing the dull one, before it was silenced.

“Okay. Deadpool, 20 minutes, can you keep a timer down, just in case?”

“On it.”

“In case what?” His hands back outstretched, away from the bomb, he knew he sounded even more terrified, without the ticking of time.

“In case that was just visual, and we’ve not done anything to actually defuse it.”

“I really didn’t want to hear that.” He tried to convince himself it was just the cold making his hands and voice shake, not the weight of the bomb against his heart. “Now what kid?”

“Now, hang on I need to see better.” He could hear the spider climbing the wall, moving around to get a better angle. “More wires. Too many wires. Do they go behind you?”

Deadpool called out from his window, “His back’s clear.”

“Can you feel, are there any wires in the vest material, or underneath?”

Not stopping to think about where it could have been, he held the knife in his mouth for a second, whilst he felt around the back, and under the vest, wincing as he pulled on a still healing wound. “Just fabric.” Making a face at whatever taste was on the handle, he held it back in his hand, head tilted as he listened to Spider-man.

“Okay. We’re going to try and get that off you, if we can cut the fabric. And then deal with it that way, because I need to see more than I can with it on you.”

“Where can I cut?” Blade angled in towards him, he hovered over the fabric.

“I’d want to go for straight down you back, but I don’t think you’ll reach there. Maybe under your arm, if there’s a seam there that might be easier, or just straight through the fabric. Only need enough for you to be able to slip it off. But as far back as possible! As far away from any wires, go slow.”

“I make that 5 more minutes gone.” A count from Deadpool, and then Daredevil was sawing away at the fabric, the knife struggling through the seams.

“Just enough for you to be able to wriggle out DD.” Helpless, they watched on, not knowing that they too were being watched, having had little time to work out their surroundings, spot the camera in the ceiling. A bang from Deadpool’s side, and Daredevil froze.

“I’m fine, I was seeing how strong this door was. Strong enough. Might have broken a couple of fingers. Just give me a few minutes. Think we’re down to 12 now.”

Resuming his now frenzied attack on the fabric, the threat of a timer hanging over his head, Daredevil managed to get just enough space to squeeze out, leaving him holding the vest, breathing fast and panicked. “Now what?”

“Blade and vest to me, through the window.” Spider-man reached through, grabbing the vest gently, before settling on the floor with it, muttering out loud to himself.

“It’s probably safer to go off with me, right?” Deadpool called out, trying to peer through the cells.

“You could survive that?” Daredevil spoke back, from where he was pacing his room, now the threat of exploding was off of his chest. He’d spotted the hum of a camera in the corner, the buzz of a bulb hanging from the ceiling, but nothing else that could aid their escape.

“Depends how big it is. Would probably have a better chance than you pair though. If it’s too big we’re all dead regardless.” Matt had stopped his pacing up near the door, head tilted as though listening to something outside, a hand pressed up against the metal. Trying to find a weak point, somewhere it would give with enough force.

“No one’s dying, if I’ve got this right.” A final snip of a wire, and nothing happened. “Ah. Yeah, we won’t know.”

He tried to run against the door, crashing to the floor in front of it, his arm throbbing with what would soon be a bruise. “It’s stronger than I though as well. We’re not getting out that way. Either of you small or flexible enough to get through your windows?”

“Nope.”

“I mean, not all at once.” Deadpool mimed the action of sawing, but ultimately shaking his head no as well. “If we’re still counting, we’re at 8 minutes.”

“Any idea why we’re in here?” He remained on the floor, horned head resting in his hands, as a bout of dizziness made the room spin. “I don’t know how long I was out for, but there’s someone watching us.”

“We’ve all got a fair share of enemies.” Spider-man carried on picking at the bomb, trying to dismantle anything that would cause it to go off.

“But to trap us three, almost together, when we don’t even know each other? Something petty with the red suits, or New York what, vigilantes, heroes, whatever they’re calling us nowadays?” The sound of bones knitting back together came from Deadpool’s room, even as he continued to talk as though nothing was wrong.

“I don’t know Deadpool. I’m not sure how to get us out, what have we got, three locked cells, a defused bomb, a knife? Any other weapons?” He mourned the loss of his clubs, knowing it was a slim chance he’d get them back, but relieved to still have his suit, to be wearing it. There was still the worry that they had unmasked him, found out his identity whilst he was unconscious, especially with giving him the bomb. It could just be luck, and so he’d hidden that he was truly blind, sure that the others would take it as colour-blindness. And that whoever was watching would just think that too. Better that than knowing his identity, and knowing he was blind was a quick route to his name, and a prison cell.

“They took everything else of mine. Only had that knife because it was in my boot.” Daredevil gagged at the thought, remembering holding it in his mouth.

“I could probably prime the bomb again.”

“What?! Why?” Simultaneous shouts, as Daredevil stood back up again, moving closer to the window.

“Split it down, smaller bomb. Would be enough to get a door open, get one of us out, these doors probably open from the outside.”

Deadpool shouted through his window, no hesitation in his decision, “I’ll have it. Smaller bomb, won’t be enough to kill me, and at least if I lose a limb we know it’ll come back. Unless either of you have some sort of healing ability we don’t hear about?”

“Not enough to deal with a bomb.”

“Nothing.”

“Get me a bomb, little spider.” A quick minute of wiring, and then instructions called through the cells, before they were passing it through, a messed up game of hot potato.

“You’ll have about 10 seconds after you finish wiring it, I think. Get as far away, protect yourself, I still don’t know how big the explosion will be. Daredevil, you as well, get to the further corner from Deadpool’s door, just in case.”

“You know what I’m realising, we need shorter names, this is getting crazy.” A joke from Deadpool, to hide his fear? If he was feeling anything like Matt was, he wouldn’t be surprised. Anxiety was giving way to tiredness, even as he willed himself to stay focused.

“Let’s just get this bomb sorted, before we all die.” A clatter, and the bomb was in place, and wired. They all sheltered in, crouched in corners as far away as each of them could get, heads covered.

  1. 8\. 7. 6. 5. 4. An explosion rocked their rooms, dust blown up into the air, causing them to cough, and to choke.



“Still alive in there?” Standing, Matt tried to work out what was happening through the dust, hearing Spidey’s heart a nervous flutter, and Deadpool’s as well. “Deadpool? Can you hear me?” A ringing continued to echo in his ears, distorting the sound around him, the world on fire flickering in and out of focus.

“Yep, yep. Surface wounds, nothing major. Oh and the doors gone, how lovely.” He heard him stand upright, wobbling a little, a slight moan of pain, before walking, hobbling to the door. “Not really sure where we are, but lets have a look at these doors.” A creak of metal, and Matt’s door was open, leaving him to be able to walk out, even as Deadpool opened Spidey’s as well. The dust was still messing with him, and he was sure they were all going to be covered in it. “Onwards, my lovely red team.”

He managed to settle himself at the back of their convoy, letting them lead the way, up and up what felt like thousands of steps. Tiredness dragged at him still, from whatever they’d drugged him with, drugged them with, and he wondered if the others felt the same, if they were all just hiding it. Or if their healing powers they’d said they had meant that they were feeling fine. Not like every step they took was going to fail them, and as the ring of the bomb echoed inside his skull.

Pumped high on adrenaline with a bomb on his chest, it now felt as though the world was dragging down on him. Just following them, step after terrible step, trying to listen out, to hear any company before it hit them. But even as corridors split off from this staircase, they all seemed to be empty, abandoned. His head bowed, he trusted the others to be reading something, following some sort of direction, just content to follow, to end up outside, free, in the open air again.

He almost tripped, his boot catching on the ground, and felt them glance back at him. “Fine, just caught the step.” There must have been a quicker way, they can’t have got them in this way, down all these stairs. An elevator perhaps, this building must be wired, to have the cameras in the cell, the buzzing of a light-bulb. Must be light enough for them to see their way out, without tripping, without hesitating, the occasional warmth from a window, the hum of exit lights. A door was pushed open, and he hoped for fresh air, but it was just another corridor. His shoulders sagged, and he felt them glance at him again, some sort of unspoken communication, even as none of them said anything. He thought he should be saying something, they should have a plan or something, but he couldn’t bring the energy for it. Whatever would happen now would happen, and he wanted nothing more than to be back in Hell’s Kitchen, asleep.

Eventually his longed for fresh air appeared. Faint, through some more doors, but so close. They stopped at a crossroads, corridors leading off, looking at each other. “No signs. Pick a direction?” Deadpool called it, even as they both peered down the hallways.

Sighing, he brought up some energy to speak, “That way.” He pointed as well, lifting up his heavy head, and the others wordlessly listened, starting to walk in that direction. Were they are tired as him as well, to not be speaking any more, or was he missing something?

Finally, fresh air, the open sky, and he wanted nothing more than to just sink to the floor. But they were talking now, a constant babble, something about how to get home. The sight of freedom enough to drag them all out of their death march. “I’m just going to, going to have a sit.” He sat, almost fell, to the floor, hard concrete under him, the brick of a building behind him.

“Any ideas where we are D?” They didn’t seem concerned, but they were strangers at the end of the day, and ones with superpowers, that hadn’t just survived having a bomb strapped to them. It was probably a normal reaction to want to sit down after having all of that, and he wasn’t exactly used to that much action. Not like they were, bigger names bringing bigger enemies and all of that.

“Not Hell’s Kitchen.” It was getting harder and harder to stay awake, and he wasn’t sure why. Delayed reaction to the drugs? Something else they’d given him? He threw a plea up to God as he softly said, “I might pass out here.”

“Woah, woah, okay D, D, stay with me.” Deadpool had dropped down beside him, Spidey mirroring him. “Thought you were just a bit woozy, not passing out level. What’s going on?” Pure concern in his voice as he reached out, trying to work out what was happening.

“Not sure. From the drugs?”

“Okay, okay. You injured anywhere?” He was aware of Spidey patting his arms, his legs, his chest, looking for injuries against the red of his suit.

“Nothin’ new.” He remembered smelling copper, fresh blood from an old wound. “Might have torn some stitches but not, not too bad.” Against his control, he was slipping further into nothingness. 

“Anything else? Spidey, anything?”

“I don’t know, I feel fine, you feel fine right? How long you’ve been feeling like this D?”

“As fine as can be.” Spider-man answered, stood up again now, keeping a lookout. Deadpool was pushing on him now, trying to keep him upright, even as his body just wanted to fall forward, to be one with the ground.

“Since I woke up? Thought, thought it would pass.” His voice getting fainter, losing some letters as he spoke. “Not passing. Jus’ crashing.” He sighed, trying to get his thoughts in order, force some clarity back to his mind.

“I think we’re about to have an unconscious Devil on our hands.” Panic in Deadpool’s voice, even as he shook Matt, asking him to try and stay awake. But he simply laughed back, tiredness giving way to hysteria, all he wanted was to lie down and sleep. Even as his mind panicked over leaving himself in that state, his body just pulled him deeper and deeper, before silence overwhelmed him.

He awoke in a strange room. A stranger’s couch, as he tried not to move, to keep his breathing steady, gather his thoughts, his memories. The bomb, escaping, crashing, collapsing. And then nothing. He had no memories of getting here, no snippets of thought. He wasn’t sure of the time, of even the day, of how long he’d been out. Foggy. He’d be out his mind, but he knew that they’d taken his burner, he had nothing he could have contacted him on, even if he hadn’t passed out. And his clubs. He’d have to try and find replacements.

He was alone? No, in the room next door, a figure moved. Just one. Deadpool. Spiderman gone, well, he supposed he had college, or something like that, with his age. He wasn’t looking forward to whatever conversation he’d have to have here, wondered if he could just escape, sneak out a window, disappear home. But even though his head was clearer now, he was still as lost to where he was. Borrow some money, some clothes, get a taxi back to Hell’s Kitchen, or ring Foggy, see if he could come rescue him. Foggy. He was going to be in so much shit with him. Disappearing like that, for however long it was. A day, two days, he wasn’t sure how long he’d been out for, before everything with the bomb, and then after. He’d get some leeway for having a bomb threaten to kill him, right?

No, he’d have to face whatever came with waking up in Deadpool’s place, try and borrow a phone, get some help. He was so out of his depth, bombs, kidnapping, some sort of team. Some sort of arrangement, for them to drag him home, not remove his mask. As far as he knew, they were strangers to each other as well.

Deadpool’s place, or safe house. It felt like a house, homely, lived in. He imagined pictures on the walls, could sense a sofa mirroring the one he was layed out on. Shifting, making a slight noise, and the rest of the room came into a little more focus, a window at the far end, a table next to the sofa. Two doors, one leading to the space Deadpool was in, the other closed. A kitchen, he thought, as Deadpool continued his clattering, sounds of crockery and cutlery finding homes in cupboards, the quiet whistle of a boiling kettle, the smell of coffee. And then walking through with the air of someone not quite used to being quiet, slow feet, even after the noise he’d been making next door. His suit was gone, changed out for looser clothes, that moved with his every step. He couldn’t tell if he was wearing his mask still, no recognisable swish of hair.

“You awake there D?” He stopped, a distance away from the sofa, even as Matt stretched, sitting upright. There was no point in faking sleep, he needed to get home.

“Alive still, thank you. What happened?”

“Webs reckon it might have been a reaction to whatever drugs they gave us. Delayed reaction maybe, allergic reaction. Might have given you more than they should have, whatever it was.” Deadpool settled down on the sofa opposite, steaming mug of coffee in his hands. “We got your stuff, your clubs, your phone.”

“Oh! How?” Remembering all those stairs he travelled up, finding their stuff must have been nothing short of a nightmare.

“We were lost, there were no buildings anywhere that we could recognise, just warehouses as far as we could see. Spidey stayed with you and I went back in to see if I could find anything to show where we were, had to have a bit of a scuffle with some bodyguards, I don’t even know why they hadn’t stopped us before. Think they were following orders from someone elsewhere, but I found their security room, all set up to the internet with the cameras, and all of our stuff they’d stolen. It’s all destroyed now, the cameras and that, not our stuff. If we’d had more time we might have investigated it, but was a bit worried about our sleeping beauty. Anyway, got our phones, got back outside, found out we were on the outskirts of some city called Poughkeepsie, about 2 hours from Hell’s Kitchen. Not many taxi’s I would trust to lug us all back home so we had a bit of an adventure trying to find a place to hire a van or something. Until the brains of this action, Spidey realised we’d have to return the hire car. So I’ve got this guy, Dopinder, who’s my saviour, a brilliant taxi driver, gave him a call and he said he’d head out to find us. By now, me and Spidey are starving, you’re fast asleep, and we’re in the middle of nowhere.” He barely stopped to breathe, in his storytelling. “So, first action, get away from the murder house, thank goodness Webs has some superstrength, and could carry you for a walk. Found a park, settled under a tree and worked out what money we had between us for some food, at least it was daylight, played it off as some cosplay thing. Spidey went off for some food, came back with breakfast, and we tried to relax. Which when you’re a couple of people with secret identities, its not the easiest. Lots of speculation on what they were doing with us, why they’d caught us, trying to work out what had led to that point. Neither of us can really remember what we were doing before, some sort of amnesia from the drugs, can only assume we were on usual patrols and taken out some way.”

“I was going to ask, I can’t remember how I got there, just waking up.” Disjointed memories, of getting ready to patrol, cutting through to waking up in a cell with a bomb.

“Yeah, we’re the same. Even now, not a clue, just fog.” He’d thrown his hands up in the air at the thought, almost losing his coffee across the couch, saving it and carrying on as though nothing had happened. “So we sat there for the couple of hours it took Dopinder to get to us, half dozing off but trying to keep up and awake. He calls, says he’s there, we lug you out the park to the taxi, get you settled in. Long drive home, dropped us off here, and then took Spidey a lil closer to Queens, he’s got work or something today, not that there’s much left of the day now.”

“Sounds like a journey, sorry, thanks for dragging me home. Where are we now?” He wasn’t sure how to feel, guilt, embarrassment, useless for needing that help.

“Hey D, don’t worry about it. We got to look out for other, we’re like a team now, that’s how the best teams get together, through the trauma. We’re at my place, so speedrunning that vigilante friendship, and we’re not too far from your usual roost, over in Lenox Hill.”

“I’m fine, I can probably get home, get someone to come get me, you said you found my phone, is it still usable?”

“Yeah. Screens smashed to hell though, but there’s some sign of life.” Deadpool pulled out Matt’s clubs and phone from behind the sofa, passing them over.

“Screens been smashed for a while. Thanks Deadpool, for letting me crash, pulling my sorry self home. I’ll get out of your way now.” Matt rose to his feet, grabbing the clubs, dropping the phone into a pocket, ready to call Foggy once he was outside, and out the way for the shouting he knew would follow.

“Wade. Call me Wade. You know where I live, you may as well be able to call me by my name.” An announcement, followed by a gasp. “I’m not expecting you to tell me yours though, if you’re not ready! I’ve never been the most secretive with my identity, not much people can do should they even know it. I don’t need to know yours though D.”

“Thanks, Wade. I’ll see you around, hopefully in better situations than last night.”

“Be safe D.” A brief second of panic, as he tried to work out which door led to outside, and he was out on the street. In his full devil gear. He made his way to the rooftop, suddenly remembering he was in not in the Kitchen, and he was most likely lost. Hell’s Kitchen was west, theoretically walking distance if they were in the right part of Lenox Hill but right now he couldn’t even work out which way that was.

“Hi, Foggy? Yeah I’m alive, I just might be slightly lost.”


End file.
